Self Infliction
by sakiya
Summary: -"It's your powers," My mom said, sober,"They're killing you."
1. Therapy and THE SHOCKING TRUTH!

Alright, my first attempt at a mutichapter Sky High Fic. I started this to relieve stress from my other current multi-chapter (I am so stuck it isn't funny). The rating is for the first part. The entire part in italics has to be the most sexual thing I've ever written. I'm such a virgin of M-rating, you guys, I was blushing while I wrote that. Maybe I can transfer some of that energy over to my other story cause I know the readers are in need of it (14 chapters in and no romance or sex, I'msoevilyouguys).

The idea of a super with powers that are actually hurting her kind of occured to me when I was running the other day (I write my stories in my head when I run). It seemed like something nobody had done before and I sort of like being the first one (in my mind, at least). This is a warning: There will not be ANY WarrenXOC of any kind in this story. If you get off on that crap, I'm sorry. If you're looking for solace away from that crap, here you go.

Summary: "It's your powers," my mom said, sober, "They're killing you."  
Rating: Teen, for now. Maybe sex later, I don't know. You'll figure it out.  
Pairing: Umm, ocXoc? M/W, W/L  
Disclaimer: *grumble* I don't own Sky High or any of the characters assosiated. I do, however, own the sexiest black chick around, Violet, and her even sexier, former boyfriend, Hanley. And any upcoming characters, too.

* * *

"_Violet, please?" Low almost growl-like rumble in my ear, turning bones to jelly. Hot perspiration dripped down my spine. _

"_No." Squeaky, unsure. _

_Hanley man-pouted, giving me this look like I just punched him in the face. And that made me even more unsure. It wasn't even like him to ask. He grabbed my hand, interlacing his fingers through mine (I instinctively checked to be sure my inhibitor bracelets were still on), and gave me a seductive smile. _

"_Why not?" Oh, shit. That voice? I didn't stand a chance. _

_I didn't answer. Instead, I looked away from him at the chain-link fence wrapped around the edge of the roof of his building, muscles in my stomach clenching. Leaning back against the brick wall of the little shed up here was one of the most comfortable things to do in New York. He leaned in and whispered, "Are you really afraid of that Bitch?" _

_I shook my head, and opened my soda. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a suspicious smirk spread across his face. _

_After I took a swig of my soda and turned to put it down, Hanley grabbed the chance to press a kiss to my ear, then to my cheek, slowly maneuvering to my mouth, breathing out a low "Why not?" over and over. It was pleasant, I had to admit, and by pleasant I mean "**HOT**", but also torturous to my control. I could feel the skin under my bracelets heating up as he reached my mouth. Hanley pulled the best move in his book (the one his ex girlfriends just couldn't stop talking about) and gave me a scorching hot but painfully slow kiss. I kissed back automatically and felt heat flush up and down my entire body, hot, sticky sweat trailing down every surface, blood completely diverting from my brain as the contact continued. _

_Hanley shifted so that I was between him and the wall, almost on top of me. _

_One of his hands skimmed the waistband of my jeans, while the other held mine. My skin felt on fire, no doubt his intended effect, and it suddenly felt completely unbearable to wear my sweatshirt, even though there was the possibility of ice or flurries. _

_His thumb pushed under my sweatshirt and t-shirt to rub it's callused pad against my hip bone. I immediately felt blood start pounding in that general area, thumping against my skin. _

_Hanley smiled against my lips, no doubt feeling it, and deepened the kiss. I felt my free hand twist up into his long, shaggy dyed-black hair and I started kissing back harder. He unlaced his fingers from mine and placed my hand on his shoulder, his own moving to cup my neck. _

_He pulled me towards him by the waistband of my jeans, helping my arching back, and then slowly moved his hand up to my stomach. Flames erupted in the pit of my abdomen, spreading slowly through my chest and through my limbs. _

_My bracelet beeped erratically, which almost wasn't enough to pull my attention off Hanley. Almost. Groaning, I pulled away, pushing him back. _

"_Hanley, stop," The words had just barely made it out when his lips connected with mine again, only harder, more needy. I enjoyed it for about half a minute before I turned my head, closing my eyes, and broke the kiss. _

_Hanley rested his forehead against my temple, his breath blistering against my neck. I was only distinctly aware of the breathy moan I released with him positioned like he was. _

"_Please, stop," I begged, trying with no success to push him away from me. _

"_Why?" He goaded, voice rough and low. "You can't hurt me." _

"_Yes, I can," I whimpered. He breathed out again and I felt the heat slithering across my skin. My bracelet beeped again. _

_Hanley groaned, moving his hand to wrap around one of the bracelets. "Don't you ever get annoyed by these?" He asked, and squeezed the device. _

"_Hanley! No!" I cried, just as the bracelet shut off. _

"And then what happened?" Dr. Ross, Empath and psychologist, asked.

I opened my eyes to look up at her ceiling. After examining the patterns in the paint, I just turned and looked at her. "Then I killed my boyfriend."

Dr. Ross looked down at the large yellow note pad in her hands. It was slightly creepy to consider she'd written down every detail of my first near-sexual encounter. Dr. Ross pushed her stylish reading glasses up the bridge of her nose and asked, "Why did Hanley think you couldn't kill him?"

"He was a metahuman," I answered. "Super strength. His body was more resistant than average so he didn't think my power would harm him."

"But it killed him?"

I nodded, sitting up and fixing my gaze on my folded hands.

Dr. Ross must have sensed my soberness or something because she changed the subject with a surprising rapidness.

"How are you adjusting to Sky High?"

"It's fine," I mumbled. "But they can't seem to grasp that I don't want to become a Hero or a Sidekick."

"You're only taking control classes, right?" Dr. Ross asked.

"Yes, but the classes are wrapped around the principle that everyone is going to go on to become a Hero or Sidekick," I replied.

"Your mother said you're duel enrolled with the State University," I nodded, "Well, how are your classes? What are you taking?"

"Engineering and Art History."

"Sounds interesting," Dr. Ross tried. She failed and I think she realized this. "Listen, Violet, I know this must have been difficult, and awkward, to do again since you already talked to another doctor about this issue back in New York. I only asked you about it because I don't like going off the opinion of another doctor."

"No, I understand," I said.

"Have they reinforced your bracelets against that sort of thing?"

I "pssh"ed and waved my hand nonchalantly. "Of course they have."

Dr. Ross stood up and placed the notebook on her desk. She helped me up from the leather couch and handed me my coat. "That's all for today," She said, leading me to the door of her office and opening it. "Same time next week."

I thanked her (for not coughing uncomfortably when I went into detail) and walked down the hall to the elevator. Pressing the down button, I started pulling on my jacket. The door to an office down the hall opened and a woman with long brown hair with a teenage girl with short red hair stepped through it. They walked down the hall towards me and stopped right behind me, waiting for the elevator as well.

I watched all of this out of my peripherals, noting that the room they just came from was a briefing room, soundproofed and no doubt filled to the brim with maps, desks, and computers all stocked with secret intelligence.

The elevator arrived a second later and we stepped into it. The woman and teenager were murmuring to each other lowly. I noticed that they had the same brow line, eyes, nose and chin. The teenager had softer cheekbones and a stronger jaw that the woman, who I guessed was her mother.

The teenager had focused her attention on me and was furrowing her eyebrows like she was trying to place my face.

I shifted uncomfortably. "Umm…Hi," I said.

"Hey," the teenager said, absently.

"I'm Violet," I offered.

"Layla," the girl said. Vague recognition dawned on her face. "Don't you go to my high school?"

"…Sky High?" I asked. I would have been tense about asking that if I hadn't been in a building filled mostly with Super Heroes.

Layla looked rather "Ah-ha!" at that moment. "I knew it! I just knew I saw your face somewhere!"

She faltered. "But I never see you at lunch."

"I leave before lunch," I replied. "So I'll make it back to Maxville in time for my classes."

"I thought you looked a little old for high school," the woman said. "You're required to take extra classes at Sky High, right?"

I nodded.

"Which ones?" Layla asked. From her tone, I'm guessing she thought I was a newly-licensed Heroine who screwed up and had to go back to take a few hero-citizen interaction classes.

I shrugged one shoulder lazily and absently scratched behind my ear. "Control Aid."

Both Layla and the woman had their eyes focused on the shiny, shiny silver band on my wrist that was exposed when the sleeve of my coat pulled back a little. I quickly put my arm down, shaking the sleeve down.

The elevator doors opened on the lobby floor.

"I'll see you later," I muttered stepping out and walking briskly to meet my mom, who was waiting, car keys in hand.

"How'd it go?" My mom asked, a warm smile spreading across her features when I neared.

"As well as can be expected I guess," I muttered. "Dr. Ross said Dr. Robins talked to you about my results."

At that moment, my mom found her fingernails extremely fascinating. "You mean they didn't tell you?"

"Obviously not, mom," I said, "They're going to try to fix it before they'll tell me."

"They said," My mom started, "that it's reverse effects of your powers that's making you feel bad. The inhibitor bracelets cause the power to build up and now it's effecting you."

"You mean-" I started but couldn't finish, not quite understanding.

"It's your powers," my mom said, sober, "Your powers are killing you."

Well, this suck ass.


	2. Testing and Fighting

The small, cramped office felt hot, but, hell, I always felt hot. Something to do with my body excessively creating radiation in tune with my emotions. I don't really know the whole thing.

My doctors figured that out.

So I had to listen as four men over the age of fifty explained to me, for over an hour, exactly why I've been feeling so bad lately.

To give you the short version (without all the medical mumbo-jumbo), the deadly radiation created by my body has been damming up over the past fifteen years because of the inhibitor bracelets and started flooding backwards, destroying my own nerves, cells, and immune system, only slower than if it was inflicted on another person.

The only way to stop this is by releasing the radiation, but I can't do that without outright murdering everything within a hundred feet or further. Kind of a Catch 22: die or kill lots of things daily. So, the doctors suggested I start pulling a Red Star.

In other words, have all that deadly radiation removed daily and put into a neutral bio-liquid for storage. I might still have to wear a bracelet, but only just in case.

But this sort of thing doesn't always work: sometimes the liquid can't hold the radiation and sometimes the test subject exerts all energy and dies on the spot.

To figure out if this crap will work or not, they immediately started setting up controlled experiments. The first one, if we were lucky and Dr. Jamison, 83, could kick the shit out of the lab tech, would be later on today. Meanwhile, they put me in one of those little control-observation rooms that has it's own little air system and everything so no one would die when the bracelets came off.

Taking off an inhibitor is like having a cast removed: your wrist is always itchy and smells kind of bad and all you want to do is rub the shit out of them. And, of course, there's always the energy burst after the damn things come off.

They should have stuck me in a control room with a tread mill because I started bouncing off the walls like crazy.

There are really only three people who can resist my radiation, or withstand it without injury, at least.

Ramona Kendall, my room mate at college. She's this heroine, but without a name, who's body is just plain un-breakable. Thing bend around and break against her skin rather than piercing it. It's impossible to bruise or burn her. The only thing, besides starvation and drowning, that could kill her is electricity. All she feels when my bracelets come off is "heat".

Jenna White is the second person. She's my Control Aid partner at Sky High. A Senior, she's an ice related metahuman. Her whole body turns frozen when she fights, and when that happens, her skin tissue and muscle is unresponsive and "dead", so my radiation doesn't have any effect that her pyro boyfriend doesn't.

That last is the most obvious.

My mom. She's like Ramona, completely resistant. My wonky powers came from my dad, who I never met because he was taken down by a villain. My mom was the villain's daughter, actually, but I never got the full story on that.

Well, she spent most of my younger years teaching me self control and anger management, because influxes in radiation usually happened during moments of stress or outright temper tantrums. I learned, before I got the bracelets, to count to ten, take calm breaths, and go somewhere to be alone if you absolutely can't hold it.

I honestly had it down to a T.

But then first grade rolled around. First day of school, I kid you not, this annoying little bitch-to-be decides I'm her _enemy _and spends most of the year hunting me down to spit out bull crap about my parent because you can tell just by looking at me that Dad's Asian, and I guess she had a problem with that. Well, right after Winter break, she started adding more and more because she apparently got bored during the two and a half weeks she couldn't antagonize me.

That little six year old cursed like a sailor and I really couldn't stand more than five minutes of talking to her before I had to run to the safest place: girls bathroom. It was empty but I didn't know she followed me in until she started screaming and, well, you know.

After that, this thing called the "Preservation of Metahumans League" butted in. They ran some tests, wiped some memories financially, and put me in touch with this ex-Mad Scientist who happily fitted me with power inhibitors while she tried to figure out a way to make something that would neutralize the radiation instead of blocking it.

My mom attempted to get me into some sort of program for this kind of thing, but I didn't get accepted because my powers weren't active. Which just meant they didn't let me in because I didn't have the possibility as a hero. Maybe a villain, but not a hero.

Anyway, after what happened with Hanley in New York, they (P.M.L.) decided that the inhibitors weren't enough. They organized a transfer to Maxville after I'd graduated and been evaluated by a shrink.

When I got to Maxville, they tried to send me back to High School for four more years. Granted it was Sky High for official classes I "needed". And it was just "Hell No" on my end, but an adult discussion on their end with my mom. They finally settled with me taking the main class for two hours weekday mornings and went out of their way to have me roomed at college with a known heroine that could get hit by an asteroid and would come out completely unscathed.

The intercom buzzed, saying I had a visitor. I put the bracelets back on and waited for them to open the door. When they did, the ex-Mad Scientist, Miss Minerva, was standing there.

"Hey, Honey," She said in her super thick country accent. "How are you?"

The "you" came out sounding like "yew". I was used to how she talked, but a little surprised it stuck with her spending almost fifteen years in New York to act as my doctor.

"Great," I said, letting sarcasm seep into the words. "My powers are just killing me and my Art History grade is going down."

"I got the e-mail," she said. "So I came over."

Over? She said it like she was in the house next door, not an entirely different state.

"I told those men that they would not be doing anything without me present," Minerva continued. She looked stern, like my grandma saying she wanted to meet the teacher who gave me a bad grade.

I didn't know what to say, so I just smiled.

"And don't you work about Art History. It's isn't you major," She added.

"Thanks for coming, Miss Minerva," I said. I really didn't feel like bring up that Art History did matter because I was paying for it.

She waved her hand like her five hour journey wasn't anything at all. "Well, they didn't have your file or anything. They were going to be going in blind and you would have been the one to pay the price."

The file she was talking about was the top secret one she kept with the real result of my blood tests, MRIs, the full range of my powers, and all her speculations on how to neutralize it. The way she saw it, my radiation was supposed to either weaken with age or just be thermal, like my dad's, and something in my body was causing it to be deadly. What that something was, I had no clue.

It also listed every change in my condition since puberty.

"You're going to be here until they figure it out?" I asked, absently scratching at my wrist.

"Of course, dear," She said, smiling her big ass teeth.

Dr. Robins chose that moment to appear, clipboard in hand.

"Oh, hello," he said to Minerva, shaking her hand. "You must be Minerva Greene."

She grinned. "That's right."

"That file you brought over was extremely helpful," He told her. Dr. Robins turned to me. "We already have your physical from last week when we ran the test, but we still need to do a few things in that area. If you will follow me, please?"

He led both of us down the hallway into the elevator. He put a key into the slot marked "TL3" (testing lab 3) and turned it. The elevator lurched down quickly.

It took a few minutes before the doors opened.

All I saw was a big, long hallway lined with doors that opened into two passage ways.

He turned into the first doorway to the left. We followed. It was a basic exam room. He put my X-rays on the viewer and turned on the light. They were multiple x-rays of my legs, arms, chest, back, and head, but they weren't current.

They were ones from past doctor visits. The first one showed three cracked ribs and a broken collar bone. The second one showed a broken cheek bone and another showed broken fingers. All of them depicted previous fractures and sprains.

"Violet, have you ever been in a fight of some sort?" He asked. It was a stupid question, but I guess he thought it was better than "are you being abused or bullied?".

"Yes," I answered. "I took a few years of martial arts."

Okay, I admit, that was avoiding the question. Nothing, except the broken fingers, could be explained by taking martial arts for three years. In the class I was in, if you were under twelve, you wouldn't be hit in the face and the fights were never intense enough to crack ribs.

I think he saw through that.

"And," I added, "a few street fights."

There was the truth.

"Why did you street fight?" He asked. "With your condition-"

"With my condition, if I didn't let out my anger my skin would burn and the bracelet wouldn't stop beeping," I told him. "I'd back out if I thought it'd go too far."

"You never thought you'd be angrier after a fight? Especially when you lost?" Dr. Robins probed, strapping me with a blood pressure armlet.

"I barely lost," I said, "And when I did, I was too tired to do anything but congratulate the girl and go find ice."

"The radiation cooled down when you fought?" He tried again.

"No. Afterwards."

"When all your energy was spent," He said. I nodded and he scribbled something on his clip board.

"Do you still fight?" He asked.

"Not really that much," I admitted. "Maybe a little bit in Control class."

"Have you considered going in for a combat class?" Dr. Robins suggested, writing more on his clipboard. He meant at Sky High? Did they really have that kind of thing?

Oh, yeah. That class did Advanced Save-The-Citizen on Fridays. They must have created it for students who couldn't stop fighting each other.

I shrugged. "I didn't know they had it."

"I see about getting you into it," He said. The armlet beeped. He wrote down the results. Dr. Robins took off the armlet and lead us out of the room.

"What's next?" I asked.

"Testing the exact connection between the level of radiation and your heart rate," Dr. Robins answered. From his tone, I had a feeling they hadn't thought about that until they read about it in Minerva's file.

I was put back in one of those rooms, only with a viewing window.

I was asked to take off the bracelets over the intercom after the door had closed. I did.

Marshall the intern stepped in carefully, garbed in a full-body bio-hazard suit. After closing the door, Marshall the intern turned and gave the doctors behind the window a thumbs up.

He waved an electric radiation meter by me. The meter didn't have a display screen, so I guessed the reading went straight into the computer the doctors were circled around.

Marshall the intern put the meter into the kangaroo pouch on the front of his suit and pulled out a tiny syringe with barely anything in it.

"Adrenaline," Marshall the intern told me. He sanitized the crook of my elbow and injected me.

It was honestly hard to stay sitting. I felt blood rushing to the surface of my skin and the urge to stand up and pace. I clamped my fingers around the edge of the table as Marshall the intern waved the meter by my face and arms.

It beeped loudly. And the intercom didn't need to be on for me to know the doctors went "GASP!".

Marshall the intern left and I was asked to replace the bracelets.

When I stepped out of the room, I was cornered by Dr. Jamison.

"That test explained a lot," Dr. Jamison said. I was sort of vibrating in place, I'm not even kidding. "We're going to need you back tomorrow after all your classes."

He knew I was taking classes? Speaking of which, my Engineering class started in twenty minutes.

"Now," He said, looking at his Rolex, "You can leave. Try not to be late for your Engineering class."

Oh, shit, mind-reader!

"T-thanks," I kind of stuttered a little bit and left for the elevator. Minerva rode back up with me and drove me to the university in her little green Mini Cooper.

My class went off without any hitches. The lesson was easy: an overview of something we already covered. I didn't even need to take notes. And it didn't help that I was twitching like mad the entire class. I could barely focus, I was so hyper. The skin beneath my bracelets began to burn.

After we were dismissed, I went to find a way to relieve all that adrenalin (I didn't have art history that day). I voted for my usual way, which really wasn't hard. I situated myself behind Raved (Yes, that is the actual name of the club) right after dark and a fight found it's way to me in less than half an hour in the form of a drunk little white gang-banger trying to prove herself.

I have to admit, she wasn't _that_ drunk. But she did have enough sauce in her system to confront me because I looked like some whore that's been on her boy toy.

She was sober enough to give me a nice shiner and a busted lip in two minutes whereas I just managed to promptly smash my elbow into her face twice in a swing-back move, deliver a swift uppercut, and knock the wind out of her with my knee. It wasn't a fair fight, but it was a fight. She was on her back, gasping like a fish out of water.

I leaned over her. "Calm down, try to breathe."

She tried to kick me in the face but I avoided it easily. The girl started having more trouble breathing.

"Breathe," I said. After she calmed down a little bit, I added, "And I wasn't on your man."

The adrenalin cooled down while this guy helped her up and lead her back into the club via the back door. Now I felt sluggish and tired.

I managed a ride back to a few blocks from campus, where my favorite little corner minute mart was. I walked in and waved at the manager, Mr. Wong. I've been stopping here for three months but he still stares at me every time like he's never even seen me. There were some other people in the store but I didn't pay attention.

I maneuvered to the back freezer where he kept ice packs. On my way back to the front counter, I picked up a water bottle and miniature bottle of aspirin. Just as I started to pay, the other people got behind me in line.

There was laugher at a very bad joke, but it stopped.

"Um…Violet?" A girly, incredulous voice asks. It's fresh enough in my memory for me to place. I glance back and get proven right.

"Hey, Layla," I mutter, accepting the plastic bag Mr. Wong handed me and stuffing my wallet into my back pocket.

"This is that girl I told you guys ab-" She continued to her friends but stopped when she noticed my black eye. She noticed it because I fished the ice pack out of the bag a pressed it to my face. Her eyebrows furrowed. While she was processing my truffed up apearance I surveyed the group behind her.

That Stronghold guy, the poster boy for Sky High, was holding hands with Layla, and two more people, a punk chick and a kid so brightly colored it hurt my eyes to look at him. I got the impression of a double-date that stopped for candy and soda.

"What happened to you?" asked Layla in a very motherly voice. I could tell from her face that all she wanted to do at this point was worm her way into my business. And, from her eyes, I guessed she usually succeeded and wouldn't stop until she did.

Shit.

_**This chapter is so long because I'm sorry the last one was so damn short. I'm really trying to develop her character in this chapter because all you learned last chapter is that she curses a lot, is in therapy for killing her boyfriend, and is a virgin.**_

_**Thanks for reading the 2891 words of that story. **_

_**~Sakiya**_


	3. long night

_First on the bad list,_

_And your the last on mine._

_Lookin' for a scapegoat,_

_Long past due_

__"Where do I hide" - Nickelback_

"What do you mean?" I asked, moving aside for them to access the front counter. The Stronghold guy pretended that Layla wasn't causing a scene and put their things on the counter for Mr. Wong to ring up.

"How'd you get that black eye?" Layla questioned, calmly. You know, just from her tone and very calm pushiness, I thought she'd make a great social worker, but that's just me.

"My whole face is black, the eye doesn't make a difference," I said. And, quick to change the subject, I added, "You told them about me?"

"Were you attacked? Because you know there's some villain wannabes going around attacking…our school's students," Layla told me, ignoring my question.

I didn't see the logic in that. Honestly, if they preached anything at Sky High, it was secrecy and protection of identities. How would a villain, not even an actual villain at that, get their hands on the school roster?

"No," I shook my head. "I got this doing my own private business. And that whole villain wannabe thing probably isn't true. Like Freshmen Friday at my old school."

"Freshmen Friday?" Stronghold asked.

"Yeah, you know, when all the seniors are supposed to gang up on any freshmen they see and do the worst bullying they can? Totally didn't happen. They said it would happen to sweat us out," I answered. "The villain wannabe story was probably made up so that you guys wouldn't go around blathering about school."

Layla didn't look convinced. But I didn't really care unless she planned on attaching herself to me like a leach for the rest of my term at Sky High. Which, to be honest, would suck big, hairy balls.

"Violet, I just want to-" Layla started. She wanted to do what? Know? Help? Meddle?

Alright, this girl was forcing herself in, I decided. So I attempted my best at kicking her the fuck out…nicely.

"Look, Layla," I said, cutting her off, "I know the whole protectiveness thing is programmed in at school, but I'm a big girl. Totally legal and everything. I should be able to take care of myself. And," I added, "If I can't, then I'll have to rely on my superhero of a roommate. Speaking of which," insert fake glance at watch, "I have a study group with her in ten minutes."

Layla still didn't look convinced. I just settled on a "Nice seeing you, really. Bye." and disappeared out the door. I really got a feeling she was going to make it her job tracking me down in school because she thought someone was after me.

Why couldn't I have just not talked to her in the elevator? Just let her stare at me and make it so she doesn't know me by face, school, hospital, and name. For Christ's sake, why the fuck did I give her my name?! My roommate doesn't know my real name! Most people call me by my last name or a variation of nick names. Why couldn't she have just stopped fucking staring at me or waited until she saw me in the hallways at Sky High to place my sorry ass?

I made sure to be hasty, turning the corner as quick as I can without running. Once I got a few blocks away, I slowed my pace. I barely stopped to pop four aspirin and take a drink of water. Then I turned into the first shortcut I learned. I turned out a few streets away, a few blocks away from the bus station. It was getting dark and I knew this part of town.

The bad part.

Normally, if I chose to walk through this part of town, it wasn't unless I had a switchblade, pepper spray, or brass knuckles (taken from Ramona). Or, hopefully, all three.

And, right now? I looked beaten and vulnerable. That was a bad way to look in this section of town. I checked all of my pockets and my tote for something, anything. There, in the bottom, were Ramona's brass knuckles. I put them on my left hand and continued walking.

And then, I had this crawly, sneaky suspicion that I was being followed. And I mean the women's instinct kind of feeling, like knowing you're going to have a visitor or that the chicken is going to burn. I tightened my grip around the brass knuckles.

Now it's more that a feeling, now I can hear quick, heavy steps coming up behind me. I quicken my own pace, trying to not let on that I knew they were back there.

A hand came down on my shoulder and I spun, putting all of my strength into a punch to my follower's face.

It wasn't until they were on the ground that I realized I recognized the person. A guy about 19 with cropped brown hair that had orange highlights and a neon green sweatshirt under a leather jacket. He was another metahuman in Ramona's actual study group. I knew him. But his steps usually weren't so loud…looking towards his feet, I saw he was wearing a pair of steel-toed work boots. That explained it.

"Billy?" I asked, and was immediately at his side.

Billy (or Bill or Will or Liam or Mr. Fierce, never William) rubbed his cheek where I'd hit him and muttered something in Russian, probably a curse.

"Damn, Buggie, you got a mean punch," Billy groaned and I offered him my ice pack.

"Buggie" was just a variation of his old nickname for me, which was something like "roach".

"What are you doin' back here?" I asked, helping him to his feet and picking up his torn-up backpack off the ground.

"I smelled you, saw you," he grunted, shouldering the bag. "With that shiner and looking a hella out of it. Got worried and was comin' this way anyhow."

Billy's father is this old hero in Russia called Panther (or whatever the Russian equivilent to that was). Guy was infused with feline DNA and it got passed to Billy. He's got really intense senses and reflexes. I'm seriously talking landing on his feet after falling and knowing everyone he's ever met by smell (not to mention loving on you after you eat fish). For me to have caught him off guard like that, he must have something on his mind.

"How'd you get that anyway?" Billy asked as we turned the corner of the bus station. He gave me back the icepack and I pressed it to my mouth because my busted lip had developed a heart beat of it's own.

"I tried to use it to break some girl's fist," I joked around the pack. He laughed. It was a raspy sound but Billy always sounded like that. "How've you been?"

Billy absently ran his hand though his hair, ending with him scratching the back of his neck. "Just got fixed up from a fight. Had my ass kicked."

"How bad did you get beat?" I asked. He looked fine, without a single scratch on his face or hands. But I noticed he was limping slightly. Billy grinned and lifted his sweatshirt and wife beater, displaying his entire, bandage-wrapped abdomen, blood seeping through and everything. I was in the middle of trying to figure out how deep the wound would have to be before he stopped being able to walk when Billy dropped his sweatshirt back down.

"Want aspirin?"

"Nah, got painkillers from the ER. Just need to get back to the dorm and-"

"Sleep?"

Billy grinned. "Work on my term papers."

"What classes?" I asked.

"Psychology 102 and Creative Writing 102."

Oh, yeah. You were required to take some sort of writing class (I'd taken mine during the summer) and I guessed that he took his for another year because he liked it. Maybe he was a good writer or something, but then again, he mainly spoke in sentence fragments, barely using the word "I", and most of the writers I knew made sure to abuse the dictionary and thesaurus, even in casual conversation. Then he looked at me, shuddering.

"You cold?" He asked. See?

I was in overalls and a thin sweater. I shook my head. In fact, I was almost overheating. I tucked the plastic bag into my tote and pocketed the brass knuckles, rolling up my sleeves. Billy looked at me like I was insane.

Billy glanced up at the sky, nose twitching. "Smells like snow," He told me.

We reached the bus station and boarded the 119 headed towards campus. When we got there, Billy made a face and went towards the boys' dorm. But his room was on the floor below mine. I turned and saw that the Nirenberg Coed dorm (also known as the mutant dorm) was pounding music and had flashing lights on two of the floors. Great.

Okay, did I think it was a good idea to put all the future heroes and young powered beings in one convenient place? No. But it apparently kept harassment from regular people to a minimum.

I had fight my way through to the stair well and climbed to the third floor, nearly stepping on a few entangled couples on my way. When I reached my room, I entered without knocking. Before I turned on the lights, I heard a squeak and I looked to the left side of the room, where Ramona's bed was.

What I saw was embarrassing, for me. And Ramona. And Reid Simmons, too. (I was only able to recognize him because of his glow-in-the-dark green hair dye job.)

But luckily it was dark so I could just mutter a 'sorry', fumble around the top drawer of my dresser (which was right by the door) for clothes, and back out of the room with minimal retinal scarring.

"Ah, Daniels!" I heard Ramona squeak. "Wait-"

"Nah, nah, you two continue what you're doin'. I'll just go hang with Richie for the night," I shouted into the room before shutting the door and heading down the hall to Richard's room.

Richard was leaning in his door frame, arms crossed, a knowing smirk playing across his face (sexy). He was decked out in plaid and chains, with tattoos and a load of piercing and hair sticking so straight up in the air, it must have taken enough hair gel to stick a dog to the wall. From behind him, I caught a glimpse of black wall paper and posters and head-banger music pounded out through the doorway. He motioned for me to come in, which I happily did.

Richard didn't have a roommate, well he did _once _but I never got the full story on that, so there wouldn't be any complaints about me staying. I sat down in a bing-bag chair that was in the corner, dropping my tote and the folded up Pjs I'd retrieved from my room. Despite the fairly stereotypical description I just gave you, Richard is all cookies and tea. And English, too.

When I met Richard over the summer, I had a one hell of a crush on him almost instantly. It was sort of weird to me because it usually took a while for me to develop a crush on someone, so I mentioned it to Romona. At which point she explained to me that his mutation was bodily chemical control. He can control chemical signals in you brain that triggers reaction, as well as his own body, mostly through physical contact. Richard uses this to his advantage in his love life by making himself release an extreme amount of pheromones that affect basically everyone he comes into contact with.

Sometime during the fall, after a series of vivid and embarrassing dreams about him, I talked to him about it and he agreed to stop doing the pheromone thing when I'm around.

I rubbed my hands over my face, willing my cheeks to stop burning. "That was utterly embarrassing," I said. It sounded muffled against the palm of my hand.

Richard chuckled so low, I would have thought it was a growl if I hadn't seen his shoulders shaking between my fingers. "If you 'ad gotten 'ere sooner, I would've been able to warn you," He said over his shoulder. Richard closed a heavy textbook on his desk and set it on top of his microwave. Then he started stacking folders.

"Where were you?" He asked, continuing to straighten the piles of papers, books, and pamphlets. I'm pretty sure it would have been awkward if anyone else had asked, but Richard didn't exactly expect an answer. He was asking to get the question out of his head so he doesn't obsess over it.

I removed my hands from my face, leaned back into the light of his green stand-up lamp, grinning. "Take a look for yourself."

He turned his attention to me, squinting. He noticed the black eye, the busted lip, and probably the bruise on my jaw. His brow furrowed. Then he undid the Velcro straps of the glove on his left hand and approached me.

Oh, shit. I hated it when he did this.

I braced myself against the wall as Richard put his hand on my cheek and my blood started to boil under the skin in my face. Bright white spread over my vision as the burning increased. I shut my eyes and clenched my jaw as he moved his hand up to my forehead. Richard mumbled something that was so heavily accented, I didn't understand it. Then I felt what I assumed was the equivalent of my brain exploding and I was out cold.

(This almost always happens when he sees me after I've been in a fight. He hypes up the chemical signals that make white blood cells respond and makes them act like they're on steroids. This drains energy extremely fast, which causes fainting.)

My cell phone vibrating in my pocket is what woke me up. I shifted and pulled it out. The reminder that I had to be at Sky High in an hour popped up on the screen. I groggily pushed it back into the pocket of my overalls and rolled over. I had been face down in Richard's bed, completely twisted up in the sheets, and he was nowhere to be found. A Post-It on the bedside table read, "Went to morning class. -R".

I rolled out of the bed and realized I was fully dressed, minus my Chucks. My sweater had a few drops of blood on it and smelled like sweat and I really didn't want to go to my dorm room so I pulled a shirt out of the top drawer of his dresser and also managed a pair of plaid skinny jeans. The shirt was an ancient AC-DC t-shirt with the locations of all of their concerts listed on the back. I changed my shirt and took off the overalls. A quick glance in the mirror showed the bruises on my face almost completely faded.

I pulled on the jeans (they were a bit baggy, but I'll take what I get) and Chucks. Getting everything together, I prepared to step outside. It was nice and dark inside Richard's room, and my headache hadn't subsided yet. Sucking it up, I pulled open the door.

Yeah, the hallway lights only made the headache worse. Closing the door, I turned to walk towards the stairwell.

One look outside of the big widow at the end of the hall told me Billy had been correct in his assumption it would snow. As warm as I was all the time, I seriously doubted I could go out in two feet of snow in a short sleeve shirt. Going back into Richard's room wasn't an option (I didn't have a key.) So, unless I wanted to borrow something from somebody, which I didn't, I'd have to go back to my room.

I had to prepare myself to do this, too. Finally, I knocked on my own door.

A shirtless Reid answered, looking groggy.

"Hey, Daniels," He greeted, rubbing his eyes. Reid stepped to the side, letting me inside.

"Where's Ramona?" I asked, dropping my overalls and sweater into the dirty clothes bin. I wrestled a heavy soccer sweatshirt from an chair stacked with clothes and books.

"At breakfast with somebody," Reid answered. He picked up his shirt from the floor and pulled it on over his head, sitting on the bed. I pulled the sweatshirt over my head and gathered my books. I absently glanced at the alarm clock poised on top of a tall book shelf. 6:55 a.m.

"Shit!" I grumbled, throwing the strap of my bag over my shoulder. The bus for Sky High picks me up at 6:40. "Shit!"

"What?" Reid jolted up off of Ramona's bed, alarmed.

"I missed the bus to Sky High," I complained.

"You go to-?" Reid asked. I nodded. He suddenly started pulling on his jeans and a sheepskin jacket. Reid laced up his shoes and opened the door. "Come on," He said, motioning for me to go through it.

"What?" I was surprised. He gave me a "are you stupid?" look and said, "You need a ride to Sky High, right?"

I nodded. Reid grabbed me by the arm and lead me down the hallway, towards the stairwell. I was confused. Did he have a flying car or something? As soon as we cleared the entrance of the dorm, Reid seized me around the waist and crouched down. The two of us shot off the ground so fast I almost dropped my books. His hand clamped over my mouth to stop my scream. I almost passed out again. We flew beneath the clouds for a few seconds until he found a thin patch. Reid said something, then I was soaked almost completely through.

Reid didn't even hesitate to figure out where the school was; before I knew it, I was being lowered onto the front lawn of Sky High at 7:10. Frost had formed on my eyebrows and lashes, and my sweatshirt was frozen.

Reid's condition was the same as mine, but he didn't seem so phased by it and just brushed everything off absentmindedly. It took me a few seconds to recover body heat. By the time I'd turned to thank him, Reid had apparently jumped off the side of the school.

The warning bell rang.

Since I wasn't even in the building yet, I decided a sprint was necessary. When I actually reached the classroom and added another tardy to my nonexistent record, the teacher stopped me from sitting down by shoving a schedule – Post it pass combo in my face. Apparently, Dr. Robins held through on the Combat class. My new schedule consisted of Combat class followed by a two hour Control Aide.

I managed to find my way without getting too lost.

You will just _never _guess who's in my new Combat class. Okay, maybe you will because it has to happen for this to be considered actual fan-fiction. Sitting all along the bleachers in Gym B (There are apparently two because it's easier or something) was who else besides Layla and her posse. Layla's attention immediately snapped to me. I noticed Jenna a few rows above them and went to sit with her.

"Hey, Daniels," Jenna greeted. She looked tired and a little annoyed. I started to wonder why before remembering this wasn't her first class of the day.

"They changed your schedule?" I plopped down next to her. She glanced at me, smiled, and flicked a few strands of white-blond hair out of her face while nodding. I shrugged my shoulders and said, "My bad."

"No prob, Daniels," Jenna said, sighing. With a grin, she added, "I hate having advanced trigonometry and situation evaluation first thing in the morning anyway. Maybe now I'll actually pass."

I smiled back as I shrugged out of my jacket. I almost put it right back on, though. Jenna was radiating cold like a Popsicle and the bleachers under us were practically frozen, solving the mystery as why she was sitting alone.

"Something wrong, Jen?" I asked.

Jen glanced down at Layla's group and back at me. She grumbled, "No, I must be naturally syncing up with the weather outside." and I nodded my head like I actually bought that.

Her pyro guy was down there, pointedly not glancing anywhere near our direction. Fight? Break up? Should I care? I decided interfering would be a breach of her privacy (not to mention his, and he has a _reputation_) that I don't want to get involved in because I got the feeling that it would yank me within reach on Layla.

Pyro glanced back quickly and Jenna immediately turned to me to avoid meeting his eyes. "Are you doing anything later?" She asked, quietly.

"What day is it?"

"Wednesday," Jenna answered, then she hesitated and pulled out a small day planner. "Yep."

"I have a family dinner tonight," I said.

"Aren't you in college?"

"Yeah, but that's where my tuition money comes from. Plus, good ol' soul food," I answered, smiling at the thought of my mom's cooking. "But if you want to do anything tomorrow, I'm free after my art history class."

Jenna nodded, right when the teacher finished taking roll. He was a super strong guy that stood at about eight feet and had a neck almost as thick as my thigh. I call him Mr. Neck.

"Alright," Mr. Neck started. His southern drawn voice was booming, but it didn't look like he was straining to make it that loud. "Today, we are going to be starting defense maneuvers and blocking. As, some of ya'll already know, not all attacks are physical. Some villains have guns, shoot electricity or another element, and even just plain throw stuff at you. The first half of the year will be spent learning how to evade attacks by any means necessary. Can I get an example? White! Stronghold! Get down here!"

Jenna sighed and dragged herself up out of her seat. Stronghold must have noticed her annoyance and slight anger, because he started to look a little worried. Or constipated. Either one. And both looks were probably warranted, because I would have soiled myself if I was in his position.

Jenna turned Stronghold into a Popsicle midair in ten minutes and the rest of the class period was spent trying to defrost him safely.

Then I had a two hour Control Aid class with Jenna. She had to leave after the hour with the rest of the class and I got to meet the next class. My partner for this class period was Vince Valenti. He was a senior who was built like a house with a shaggy, former Mohawk and black fuzz on his chin.

He stepped into my insulated booth and offered his hand, grinning. I shook it while he said, "Hey, I'm Vinny."

"Daniels," I said. Vinny set his backpack and several layers of sweatshirts and sweaters outside before the coach sealed it. He must have heard about all the clothing that had been destroyed in my booth. The coach tapped on the built in computer. He told Vinny to power up and told me to take off the bracelets when he had. Vince braced his body and his skin molded outward, becoming shinny and metallic. His hair changed too, now resembling wires. He smiled again, and I saw that even his teeth and tongue were metal.

I lowered the power of the bracelets first. Vinny furrowed his eyebrows and looked around. I waited for a second.

"Do you feel that?" Vinny asked, waving his hand vaguely.

"I did that," I said. "Is the feeling painful?"

"No. Kinda like a itch," Vinny said, absentmindedly scratching the back of his hand. I disabled the bracelets completely. "And that kinda feels like a sunburn."

Vinny held out his arm, away from the rest of his body. I started to focus on it. Vinny started talking. While his arm slowly grew white hot, he obliviously told me about most of his family tree, his mega-hot (in the literal, fire breathing way) girlfriend, Jackie, his last three years at Sky High (adding a, "I never saw you before this year, though. Did your powers develop late?"), and explained that he was put in here to test his resistance to various powers. Then, he started going into just why they put him in here with me.

"Well, you know how they do field assignments to see how far you are at the end of junior year? Oh, wait, you don't. Sorry. It's something they do, but only with people who's powers are really well developed. Well, mine was to spy on this low level villain hiding out at an old nuke facility," He grinned sheepishly.

"My spy skills aren't the best, so the villain found me, and threw me in a this big vat of radioactive toxic waste. And I didn't even feel a thing. Well, except heat." He shrugged, making a confused face. "Like that time Jackie threw me in the furnace in the basement."

And, quick to defend his girlfriend, he added, "But only after I pissed her off royally. I told her to blow the whole Homecoming idea out her ass because I seriously haven't been to a single school dance since the sociopath Gwen took over everything our Sophomore year and the tux I rented got totally ruined. That was $1900 out of my own pocket! I heard that some other wacko tried to take over during the Winter Ball last year. Wait, it was the Yule Ball. Anyway, Stronghold and Peace took his ass out so fast, his head was spinning. I just know some shit is gonna happen this year, and I'm keeping my ass out because ya never know what could happen. Greenpeace could dump Stronghold before, and he'd get all bummed and not go, and he's the only reason Peace goes, and then we're just screwed. I don't really think anyone has the balls to step up-"

He kept on like that until the coach tapped his knuckles against the clear side of the cubicle, then pointed to his wristwatch when we had looked at him. We were out of time. I turned on my bracelets, and started pulling on my jacket.

"-and, you know, most girls like her flip if you make a face at them when they say something, so me telling her all that shit to her face _really _pissed her off. That was at the beginning of the school year last year. And we _just _made up last month. I swear, girls with grudges. Oh! No offense intended, Daniels, I was just talking out of my ass-"

I was relieved when the bell rang and he hurried to his next class. Then I remembered that he was probably going to be my partner for the rest of the year and I wondered how long it would take him to run out of things to talk about. Probably the whole year.

I had to endure the gut wrenching early dismissal bus all the way back to solid ground.

My phone started buzzing as soon as the bus touched down. Sky High was too high up for cell phones to be picked up by cell towers, and it wasn't uncommon for my message box to be almost completely full when I came down. I unlocked the keypad and opened the list of text messages.

**Dinner 8, not 7 – Mom, 8:43 am**.

**Need Engine notes...help? - Reeves, 8:50 am. **

**Lunch 11:30? - Ramona, 9:02 am. **

I sent each a message that said, "**k"**, because I'm really lazy when it comes to text messaging. Then I called my voice mail.

"**You have three new messages. Message one, "**_'ey, it's Richard. You forgot some things in my room. I didn't want to put them in your room with Simmons skulking around. Just come get them whenever you want. Bye." _**Wednesday, December 13th, 8: 29 am. Message two, "**_Hello, Miss Daniels, it's Dr. Robins. We're ready to begin testing tomorrow, at noon. Please bring an extra set of clothes. Have a good day." _**Wednesday, December 13th, 9:30 am. Message three, **_"Hey, Daniels, it's Ramona. I, uh, want to talk to you about last night. It might sound a little obsessive, but I wanted to make sure you, ah, got my message. Well, I'll be at Moe's Dinner at 11:30 if you decide to come. Bye." _There were sounds of her fumbling with the phone, then a click, followed by, "**Wednesday, December 13th, 9:50. There are no more new messages. To delete any of these messages, please press one-" **I hung up and checked the time.

11:02.

I was quite positive that trying to go back to the dorm and grab a shower before heading over to Moe's wasn't going to go well. Ramona was already reading way too much into me immediately fleeing at the darkened sight of her naked and tangled in the body parts of another naked person. If I showed up more than ten minutes late or called and told her that I couldn't come after sending a text that meant I would, she would think I was avoiding her.

Ramona's major is Psychology, and she isn't above trying various methods to "fix the emotional problem between us". (It has happened before, in case you were wondering.)

And the last thing I need on my ass is _another _worried, in-my-business super-powered woman.


End file.
